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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23190925">Histoire d'O</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bleach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Captivity, F/M, Gangbang, Multi, Stockholm Syndrome</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:09:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23190925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Orihime, trapped in Hueco Mundo, is taught to be available to the espada for anything they want through a series of sexual encounters. Slowly, she becomes accustomed to her role, until she is able to fully delight in the sin and debauchery taking place in Las Noches. She may never want to leave.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Inoue Orihime/Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, Nnoitra Gilga/Inoue Orihime, Ulquiorra Cifer/Inoue Orihime, inoue orihime/aaroniero arruruerie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. l'introduction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is.....problematic, I fully admit and I feel weird about posting it but i guess this is somehow therapeutic</p><p>We all just out here bein fools, </p><p>the concept is loosely based around the classic french erotic novel "the story of o"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>Through it all, she reminded herself of one solitary fact: she went willingly. There was no struggle, and she did not scream and shout as she walked down that dark and awful tunnel to her doom. And though she was clever enough to know that this free will she had was really an illusion, she clinged to it through the whole ordeal because it was easier to blame herself than to blame fate and chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She went willingly. And though it hurt and she cried so many times, she came out on the other side as a new and different woman, willingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It began in the dark. Her eyes had adjusted, but still she knew that the room was pitch black. She assumed, then, that she would have to get used to this: seeing in the dark. Hueco Mundo was a place with no light but the moon. She sat on a cold bench, still wearing her school uniform, her knees cold in the short skirt and her leather shoes becoming uncomfortable. She was unused to wearing them for so many hours. Inside the shoes, she curled her toes. She was left by Ulquiorra to wait, but for what, she had not been told. Beneath the heavy door of the room that she was struggling not to think of as a jail cell there came a thin stream of light, occasionally interrupted by the darkness of footsteps passing by. Each time she saw those shadows, she felt a tremor of hope in her chest, and so quickly it devolved into fear. Who next would come? Where next would she go?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard furtive voices outside the door. Familiar, but muffled. Arguing. Eventually, the voices quieted, and the door began to creak open, the light from the corridor blinding her. She held up her arms in front of her face out of instinct, but quickly lowered it, frightfully eager to know who was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew this beastly man. He had been broken before she healed him, returned to him his arm. His blue hair shone darkly in the dim light, and his eyes seemed black in the shadows, darkened with anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had in one of his hands a swinging, metal pair of handcuffs. Orihime gulped. Through the darkness of his eyes, she read a hunger. The hunger that all girls fear, and the hunger that all girls know is often the endgame of their captivity. She had feared it, but not allowed herself to truly entertain the possibility that she had been brought to this place to be raped. Surely their interests were deeper than that, surely they wanted nothing to do with--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man hovered closer to her, towering over her in her sitting position.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stand up,” he commanded. She obeyed, wishing she had resisted, wishing she had the strength to even put up the slightest bit of a fight against</span>
  <em>
    <span> any</span>
  </em>
  <span> of this. Even if his intentions were not to violate her, she should at least be brave enough to hesitate. But she wasn’t. She was weak. She stood, and he grabbed for one of her trembling wrists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised her arm to the cold wall behind her, and clasped one of the handcuffs on, swinging the chain over a rusted metal pipe that seemed to exist without function, closer to the ceiling. As he raised the other arm, she found it strange that she was not crying. She felt frozen, still clinging to the hope that maybe, maybe, this was just an extra measure of captivity. That maybe she would be the only girl lucky enough. Maybe she just wasn’t pretty enough. Maybe her skin just didn’t glow enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it did, and she hated herself for knowing it, for being so arrogant. Once both of her wrists were bound to the pipe above, she dared to lift her chin and look up at him. Grimmjow, with his mean smile and his bare chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cut a deal with Ulquiorra,” he growled. “Just so you know he doesn’t give a fuck what happens to you.” He was right to focus in on that last shred of hope, that maybe at least one of them was kind. “I got one hour with ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did not speak, though her mind cried out with protests and bargains. Too scared to make a sound, she watched from her own eyes as if looking out a window. Someone was sliding hands over her hips. Those hands were rustling the fabric of her sweater vest. She settled back into reality when she felt his palms upon her breasts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah--” she briefly gasped, squirming a little, but it only made her ample chest shake, much to Grimmjow’s snickering and grinning. He massaged them then, staring at them, his eyes finally alight in the dark room. He licked his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swiftly, he lifted the sweater vest, making way for her button-down shirt and her little uniform necktie. It hung between her breasts, and he did not bother with it. He instead curled his fingers between the buttons of her shirt, and tore. Her breasts seem to bounce free into the cold air, and she gasped again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wh-what--” </span>
  <em>
    <span>What are you going to do to me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wasn’t it obvious? She felt stupid for even thinking to ask. “Please--” He chuckled, taking one brief moment to reach for her chin, run a thumb along her shivering lips. “Mmf--” His kiss was too soft for his cruelty. He parted her jaw by pulling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He backed away some, taking in the sight of her, hanging there helpless with her shirt ripped open and her knees buckling. He licked his lips again, and then ran a finger along the trim of her bra. Pink lace. He did not bother with the clasp, but instead pulled it upwards, the wire hard against her, until her breasts fell free with a bounce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to close her eyes, but found them so wide open she could not help but look. At her chest, how it looked so pale and perky in the cold-- her nipples hard, and she felt so angry with herself. They weren’t supposed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> that. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not when she ought to be crying--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He massaged them once again, his fingers digging in a little harder, and he tilted his hips toward her. She felt him there, hard and growing harder, pressing into her thigh like a threat. His thumbs circled her nipples, his tongue traced his upper lip. He pinched them, he pressed them. He gently smacked a hand against one of her breasts, seeming entertained at how they bounced off of one another. And then finally, after how long she could not tell, he descended with his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was wet and warm, and she whimpered, arms struggling against the handcuffs, the metal stinging her skin so bad she decided just to hold still. To try and leave her body for a while. But the</span>
  <em>
    <span> feeling </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it-- it was as though that circling tongue was milking her soul of its willpower. His heavy, forceful sucking weakened her, seemed to cut through her breasts into her very heart, which pounded in protest. He grabbed them both, pressing them together, and took both of her nipples in his mouth at once, spit dripping down her belly from the wetness of it all. He lapped and licked, humming, growling, laughing. She felt an awful, frightened, throbbing feeling between her legs, almost on par with her terror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just then, taking his mouth from her skin for just the briefest of moments, he grinned, taking one hand to the hem of her skirt. With the back of his fingers he grazed her, along the thin fabric of her panties, and then he laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?” It felt wet. “Ya like it after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head and made a noise of defiance, but he kissed her quiet, thumbing her nipples again with a rude flick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, a knock at the door. Had it really been an hour? Time seemed to pass so differently here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow turned, keeping his hands on her waist, sneering at the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your time is up, Grimmjow. Leave her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grumbled, lowering his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be right there,” he agreed. He sloppily pulled her sweater vest down back over her exposed breasts, and wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. “See ya around…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door closed heavily behind the two espada. And then, in the quiet, she cried. For her innocence, and for the deep, deep shame she felt at that still-flowing wetness at the meeting of her thighs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some time passed, her tears having run dry, and the door opened again. Her every pore seemed to pucker as if freezing, fearful of what was to come. But it was Ulquiorra, standing with a rusty key in his hand. Solemnly, he freed her from the handcuffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what he did to me?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he answered simply. “It is unimportant, as long as you live.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did not argue. It was all she could do to stay upright, to stay brave. With a nod of his head he beckoned her down the hall, to her next prison, her next fate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She went willingly.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Plz comment!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. le geôlier</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>In her second cell, there was a bed, and a window out into the nothingness. Could it be considered an improvement, when it was just slightly less terrible than the last, rusty room where she had been—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What could she call it? She had been touched, licked, devoured...but her body, its insides, had been left alone. And maybe that would be it. But her chest seemed to still quiver and pulse with the phantoms of touch. And she could not pin down what that meant. Had she enjoyed it, despite her fear? Or did her body simply act as bodies do, when touched? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There hung a white gown with black trim, above the bed she assumed was to be hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Change,” Ulquiorra commanded, punctuated by the sound of the heavy door slamming shut. He stood still against the wall, his hands in his deep pockets, looking grimly out across the room. It was as though he managed to look through her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um--” She ran a hand down the dress, wondering if he would leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be staying,” he informed her outright. “Our Lord must be sure you have no weapons or other contraband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded sadly. To feel the cold air of this place on her skin once again-- would it incite terror? Recent memory, the sensation of a tongue and strong fingers, once again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orihime found herself lifting her sweater vest, revealing the torn shirt, buttons hanging by so little thread, her bra haphazardly covering her breasts. She could feel his dead, dark eyes on her, and she dared, just briefly, to turn and look. She breathed, heavy, making a point of it, showing her ample bosom between the ripped parts of her shirt, staring defiantly at this monster of a man who had, thus far, not touched her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to do the same thing?” she asked. Her timidity was masked by an air of anger, impetuousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no intention of doing that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...if I let you--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will not come to any less harm by doing favors for me, girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked back fresh tears, feeling gutted by his refusal, because she had been so whoreish enough to suggest it. As if it might work, as if these men, these monsters, might be willing to bargain her body for her freedom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t worth that much, and she had come willingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared him down as she pulled her shirt from her shoulders, eyes fixed on his, glossy but indignant. She fixed her bra, rearranging her breasts within the cups back to where they ought to sit. Her skin was still a little wet from Grimmjow’s mouth, and it turned her stomach. She unzipped the back of her pleated skirt, and with a gulp and a close of her eyes, she let it drop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she turned to the gown. It was pretty, in its own way, with its long sleeves and its elegant layers. There was a perfectly round cut-out, the signifier of her only worth here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Ulquiorra said, and she retracted her hands back to her sides, balled in fists. “I have to check you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stood stock-still, rigid, wondering just how involved his search would be. If this, truly, would be how she was first violated. She felt his cold breath behind her, the empty void of his presence seeming to drag her shoulders down. He snuck two fingers beneath each strap of her bra, and ran them back and forth, looking for anything hidden. And then he gently gripped the elastic of her panties, and pulled it back, looking at the curve of her rear. He rounded her, then, and pulled on the cups of her bra, looking inside. Her nipples were hard again, and she blamed it on the cold she felt. His eyes seemed to linger there. And then, finally, though she had foolishly hoped the moment would not come, he tugged again on the elastic of her front of her panties. She had taken great care to groom, recently. Her skin was smooth, her hair minimal and soft. He released the elastic and it snapped back onto her skin, and she flinched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put it on,” he said, leaving her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took his place back by the door, and she reached for the dress, pulling it gently from the hanger, draping it over her arm. It would cover her in full. It would be like a shield from more of this torment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She put on the dress, smoothing out the pure, white fabric. She looked almost like a person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hours passed after he left, and she stood before the window staring at the moon. Her body seemed to buzz from all the touching and staring, and her nipples were peeking through the fabric. She tried to cover them, warm them, smooth them down as if any effort on her part could make it go away. The shame, the fear. The thrill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hoped her friends would not come. Surely their fate would be not much different than hers. But she swept the thoughts of them from her mind; it would do no good to pine for how things were before her captivity. Not yet. It had not yet been long enough for her to begin mourning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had been instructed not to bother trying to escape, and what good was it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> all of a sudden, to disobey? She had been compliant thus far. Maybe it was all she was capable of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laid down after a while, soothed by the surprising softness of the mattress. She was so, so exhausted. Involuntarily, she fell asleep, ignoring the flashes of the espadas’ hungry eyes, of Grimmjow’s searching tongue and Ulqiorra’s curious peeking. She dreamed nothing. It was all blank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, she awoke, and the moon was still shining. She heard girlish laughter, and she sat upright, convinced for one brief moment that maybe it had all been just one long, horrible nightmare. But the two women she saw standing above her were not familiar to her. They had about them an air of hostility, of malice. With another snicker, they both grabbed her by the arms, pulling her to her feet, and toward the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re needed elsewhere,” one of them said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got some guys that are just </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to meet you,” said the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orihime squirmed a little, sleepily trying to tear her arms from their grasp, but found herself too weak to truly fight. She let out one tired sob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, is she gonna cry the whole time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe once it’s Nnoitra’s turn--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She might not live through that.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hhhhhhhhh</p><p>let me know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. le plaisir</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Orihime meets the Ninth Espada.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the gap! Felt discouraged from the lack of comments but then I got a couple! Thanks y’all. Please let me know what you think.</p><p>Specific warning of tentacles in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She is led down yet another dark hallway, the two womens’ grips digging hard into her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you taking me?” she whimpers, again and again, as the walk to her next doom feels endless. “What’s going to happen to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They remain silent save for their giggling. Too light, too innocent for what Orihime is certain is about to happen. Nnoitra’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>turn</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Whoever that is, he isnot going to be the only one… Her knees buckle as she’s dragged, her own walking simply compulsory. Where is Aizen? Ichimaru and Tousen? Do they condone this? Do they...did they </span>
  <em>
    <span>encourage</span>
  </em>
  <span> it? She cannot imagine men so cold as them grinning at anything, let alone the thought of a young woman being naked, deflowered, shamed…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But soon, she’s in a room far brighter than any she’d been in before. The walls all white, the floor a pearly alabaster, the ceiling seeming to reach on impossibly toward the heavens. She looks up, taking one foolish moment to marvel at the scope of it. Her captors continue to urge her into the room, and she wishes she did not feel so amazed. She knows she ought to feel nothing but terror, apprehension. But this place...there is something magical about it, beyond what she can already comprehend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the room, she sees a looming, tall figure. Triangular, flowing like fabric, with the head of a man and a body impossibly long. She squints.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Noveno!” the more scrappy of her captors yells. “She’s here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the bleak shadows, another espada appears. He wears a curling, ruffled collar, and his face--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It appears almost like a boy she knew she loved, but different. The hair, darker, the eyes, softer but somehow more cruel...He is grinning, lifting one arm into the air as he approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fear she feels is palpable. She squirms anew, fighting harder against their grips, and manages for one brief moment to free herself. Unaware of her surroundings, she runs in the direction of whatever approximation of a door she can find, panting, crying, feeling the terror from this man that she cannot name. Something unimaginably awful was going to happen to her. Something she could not have predicted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Catch her,” the man commands. Before she gets very far, she feels some clawing at her ankles, and in that desperate grip she falls. “Turn her over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The women, still laughing, though now allowing their grips to be even more firm, digging into her wrists with their sharp nails, slam her down onto her back once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please--” Orihime whimpers, squirming as much as her rigid body will allow, in her terror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be so scared,” he says. “It’s only gonna feel good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The women giggle, curling their fingers into her arms. It stings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aaroniero,” one of them says. “Don’t waste all your energy on her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orihime looks up, straining her eyes to see the woman. Dark hair, a grim expression. She removes one hand from Orhime’s arm to coyly run a finger over the scant piece of fabric that barely covers her right breast. This man, Aaroniero, chuckles deeply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so needy,” he accuses, playful, lifting one hand into the air. Orihime stares at his longer fingers and gulps. And then, aghast and in utter disbelief at what she sees, she lets out a horrified cry. His hand, morphing grotesquely into some shining, swirling appendage, as if each of his fingers turned into a reaching, hungry tentacle. For the time being, he ignores her, reaching instead for the arrancar who holds onto her still. He runs one of the tentacle down her chest, tugging just a little at the fabric, and she laughs again. “Don’t worry, Loly. You’re next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aaroniero turns his attention back to Orihime, laying helpless, limbs strained. He abandons Loly, two of those tentacles snaking down to instead surround her ankles. Orihime squeaks and shuts her eyes tight when he pulls her legs open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah—“ she begins to protest, and then feels a dainty hand clasped over her mouth. She continues to whimper, knowing that she will struggle to breathe, unable to stop herself, unable to preserve herself in the midst of this abject terror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels a tentacle climbing her leg, and shrieks into Lily’s palm at how wet, how warm it is upon her skin. It takes its time on her flesh, sliding up her shivering knee, her milk-white thigh. She cannot help the way her toes curl in her shoes, how a drop of sweat forms on her temple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It continues to climb, serpentine in pattern, until it reaches the fabric of her underwear. For a moment she worries he’ll rip them right off, and she gives one final squirm of protest. But instead, he simply pulls the fabric aside, curling the tentacle against her sex. She shrieks again, and at the sound of his laughter she wants to sob. But there is a thrill so paralyzing that she feels, at that wet sensation, how his freakish limb parts her, spreads her, and begins to pet so gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feels good, right?” he asks. She stares into those too-familiar eyes. They shine in a way too kind for his cruelty. “Just wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another awful tentacle, sliding up beneath her dress. This one breezes past the other, struggling against the tight fabric, reaching up all the way to her chest. It surrounds one of her breasts, circling, leaving a trail of thick fluid upon her skin. And then, as she had feared, one of those little suction cups attaches to her nipple as the tentacle continues to massage and grope. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again she feels that weight in her lap. The same she’d felt when chained up, when subjected to Grimmjow’s whims. The most frightening joy, the most shameful pleasure. She should not like it. She should not feel herself growing wet between the legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she does. As Aaroniero continues to lap at her with his tentacle, as he ever-so precisely rubs its tip against her aching clit, never-before touched, she feels the sweet tension building within her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He adds another. It slides eagerly up her leg this time, and presses against her weeping, swelling vagina. Her eyes grow wide. Terrified of just how much it will hurt, she is surprised that he only pushes it in so shallow, just teasing at the entrance. Not enough to take her in full. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This makes her all the weaker. Loly removes her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I wanna hear the noises she makes,” Aaroniero says, still grinning. “This one’s never came before, I can tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw,” the other woman says. “Isn’t that cute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucky girl, nobody does it like the Noveno,” Loly says, running some fingers over Orihime’s hair as if to calm her, as if anything could undo the fear, the anxiety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it feels as though she is melting from the inside out. It feels as if Aaroniero is disassembling her, working her body into a vibrating state. She feels the weight in her lap grow, and she shakes, and she looks at him in the happiest fear as the feeling takes over. She groans, high-pitched, her body convulsing in what she swears is her absolution. Her reward for undergoing the torture, the fear. She screams in overwhelming pleasure, and as she lets it happen, Aaroniero’s smiling face takes on a new, awful shape. A glass jar, full of sloshing pink liquid, two horrid skulls suspended in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The women laugh. Orihime cannot look away from this terrible, wonderful thing before her. This monster that has cured her body of something she did not even know she was ill with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?” His voice is different then, impossibly low, impossibly high. “You did so well, Orihime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to thank him. For this, she hated herself. But, rendered speechless, she just lay there, limp. Powerless enough that the two women released their grips on her. Aaroniero’s tentacles retreated, swirling back to him, returning to their form as human hands. His face returns to its prior handsomeness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She breathes, as if she has never done so in her life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon girls,” he says, spreading his arms. Her captors stand, eagerly skittering over to him. “Nnoitra will be here any minute, now that I’ve gotten her ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orihime watches from her place on the floor, unable still to move, lifting her head to watch the three of them retreat to another corner of the room. It is then that she notices the sort of room it is. Scattered with beds and fine fabrics, but so bright it could not possibly feel intimate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall into one of the large, low beds. As she climbs the Noveno, straddling him, Loly looks across the room, right into Orihime’s curious eyes. She hears her laugh, watches her stick out her tongue as she pulls the meager fabric away from her breasts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nnoitra. Is he the end of this? Will he make her feel anything like this feeling from which she reels? Still her body twitches with the last vestiges of orgasm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she sits up, looking around for some better place to recover, she hears the door creak open again.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I kind of want to go to the Las Noches sex den I’m not gonna lie to you</p><p>Plz comment make my day &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. la douleur</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nnoitra. That’s all.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ok so like</p><p>I’m fully aware of how the reality of this content is majorly unsexy and awful </p><p>But it’s porn! So</p><p>Also don’t pretend you wouldn’t let Nnoitra raw you ok</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Still dizzy, she manages to pull herself to her feet. Her knees knock together, and she still feels the heavenly convulsions as they peter out, leaving her body through her fingertips and toes, as if her entire body is alight. She rubs at her eyes, still not convinced she’s truly awake, not convinced this isn’t some vivid nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But no. Her feet are grounded on the tile floor and she can tell by the way the light penetrates her eyelids that this is all real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she came willingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t have the time to consider how things might have gone differently, if they would be better or just far, far worse. The door is open, framing the body of a spindly man who drags behind him a large, fearsome weapon. Orihime gulps, trying to collect herself, thinking in her haze that she should still try to run. That even though it felt so good and she can never go back to life before she knew pleasure, she ought to leave. She stumbles toward the door, tripping on the hem of her dress, scrambling to stay upright as she hears heavy footfalls approaching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hears the grunting and the sighing of the cruel threesome in the corner. Loly laughs at her plight as she rides the Noveno with a joyful abandon. The other woman is silent, but she hears the distinct sound of lips upon lips. Perhaps in a way sweeter than she will ever know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels a hand on her head, fingers threading into her hair, stopping her in her tracks. She lets out a whimper, and is only met with an impish chuckle from the throat of this new beast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where ya goin’?” he asks, bending down, his cheek pressed to hers. She feels the wet warmth of a long tongue tracing the curve of her jaw. Before she can answer, three long fingers hook into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue, far enough back that she feels herself begin to gag. “C’mon, girl. I ain’t even hard yet, ya got work to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is lifted so effortlessly, tossed over his scrawny shoulder, and her arms hang limp, stinging from the grip of her captors, too weak and scared to make herself move. She can see through a blur to the other side of the room as she is carried over to a bed. Aaroniero, tentacles deep in both women. The looks on their faces are so serene, so blissful. It is as if they have given themselves over entirely to the sensation, no matter how depraved it may seem. The way their cheeks flush and their limbs lay limp at their sides, completely enraptured by it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps sensing that she’s looking, Nnoitra turns his head to look toward the tryst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” He brings one flat hand down on her rear. She squeaks. “Don’t get jealous a’ those sluts. My dick’s bigger anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—I’m not…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could she feel jealousy? How could she want to be subjected to that again? She squirms within the curve of Nnoitra’s arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ya really tryin’ to escape?” he asks, incredulous and mirthful. “Ya can do better than that.” She can tell from his tone that any protest would be useless, any bargaining would get her nowhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if she were to wiggle free and run, he would only catch her, and make his endgame so much worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He throws her on the bed, and she lands on her elbows and stomach, her fists tight and her eyes brimming with tears. She takes this one moment just to stare into the blankets, to focus on something, anything, that is not her reality. Maybe if she can pretend she is somewhere else, it won’t have to be so bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s rich, she thinks, knowing that she walked here on her own two feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns her onto her back, and immediately climbs onto the bed, trapping her between his long limbs. She brings her arms to her chest in defense, but it’s useless against his strength. With such ease, and such delight, he rips open the fabric of her dress, even managing to break the front seam of her bra, leaving her exposed to the cold air of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her chest is marked with the Noveno’s ministrations, her nipples hard and pink. Nnoitra’s tongue hangs from his mouth as he continues to part the fabric.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s better,” he says, tracing the curve of her with a single eye. “Grimmjow said ya had big tits, I thought he was exaggerating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she squirms, he stymies her, pinning down her wrists with his large hands. She knows they’re big, knows they’re the envy of many, that the boys in her school covet and stare at them endlessly. Until coming here, she’s never shown them to anyone. No one has ever looked at them as these men have, drooling and transfixed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She whimpers as he drags his long tongue between them. She sees on it the ink of the number five, and guesses that he is even stronger than Aaroniero. There is no hope, and her lap still shivers with a wet want. She dares to watch as he licks her, as he releases his grip on her wrists and fondles her instead. Though he does many of the same things Grimmjow did, he does them with a fervor that terrifies her so much more. Terrifies, yes, but makes her feel all aglow, inside and out. She pants as he sucks on her, feeling the instinct to reach for his head, to hold it there, to not allow him to leave…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Against her thigh she feels him. Straining against his uniform, thick and large, twitching at the taste of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He retreats, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then reaches to undo his trousers. She can see the outline of it, can see the weight of it, and when it becomes free she gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has his same paleness, but with such a sinful pink. She has never seen one before. Not like this. Maybe in a text book, or on television on accident. But never right before her, dripping to be inside of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please—“ she says, unsure what she’s even begging for. He doesn’t listen, and roughly turns her back over so that she’s on all fours, lifting what’s left of her dress up onto her back. He smacks her on the bottom again, and she yelps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, don’t like that?” He promptly does it again, harder and with a sharper sound. He pulls on her hips, bringing them closer to him, and she hears him mumbling so many lewd little things as he pulls her panties down to her knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She freezes when she feels it. His long, hard cock rubbing against her. He is almost coy at first, sliding it along her dripping sex, coating it in her. When it grazes her still-reeling clit, she shivers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s too big—“ she finds herself protesting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep talkin’ like that,” he commands. She buries her face in the blankets, and then yelps yet again when she feels that hand on his reddening skin. “C’mon…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses the head of his penis against her still-virgin sex. Even just that makes her tense up, makes her feel as though she will be torn in two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s too big…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushes in just a little further. She feels herself stretch, slick and willing to give. It is nothing like she has imagined, and she has imagined it. Late at night, curious and ignorant. And now, to have it done to her, and by someone so cruel, someone so huge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah—“ she whines, curling her fingers into the blankets as he pushes in further. “It’s—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s enough,” he spits, and with a quick tilt of his hips, he’s all the way in. She shouts. In pain, in surprise. Her body feels torn beyond repair. She is so full of him, pushed so far inside of her, impossibly far that her body shudders in protest but is ultimately useless against his strength.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drives himself into her, again and again, grunting and cursing and holding white-knuckled onto her hips. With every thrust she gasps, chokes. And yet, even in her terror, her body seems so sinfully willing. She’s soaked again, and her yelps of pain sound almost like cries of joy. As the tears fall from her cheeks, she wonders if she’s bleeding. She wonders if she will ever be the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops a moment, and she briefly, foolishly, allows herself to believe it’s over. But he just rolls her onto her back and spreads her legs anew, getting right back to his forceful rutting. She finds she can’t look away from it, can’t look away from the sight of him entering her, over and over, her sex utterly spread and sopping. His eye focuses on the bouncing of her breasts, and she feels him grow even harder inside her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels eyes on her. Out of focus, behind Nnoitra as he ravishes her, she sees the three smiling faces of her prior captors. Watching as if spectators. Grinning in approval at Nnoitra’s violence and prowess. She hears nothing, though their lips move. All she hears is the sick sound of their bodies and the pounding of her heartbeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so suddenly, she is bereft of that awful, glorious, full feeling. She looks down as he spills an immeasurable amount of semen on her stomach and chest. She watches how his cock twitches, how it gleams with her. After some steadying breaths, Nnoitra climbs off of the bed, fixing his clothes and cracking his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lays weak, knees falling together, arms spread in disarray. Covered in him. Shivering from his sheer size and fury. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get Ulquiorra,” he says as they all walk toward the door. “Someone’s gotta clean her up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And laying there, in the bright silence, she feels very dirty indeed. And yet somehow enlightened. She places her hand on her stomach, feels the shallow breaths and the sticky mess Nnoitra left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sits up, curling a blanket around her shoulders, and she catches her vague reflection in the shining marble wall. It is someone she does not recognize. But in her disheveled way, in her sullied body, she finds she can’t long for the person she was before this happened. Whoever that was.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Updates twice one one day) I’ve lost control of my life.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(sweats)</p><p>let me know if i should continue!!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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